


try this trick and spin it, yeah

by Becks_Rylynn



Series: Where Is My Mind? 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Human Ruby, Mentions of chronic depression and PTSD, Mentions of death of a child, Non-Explicit Sex, Prescription Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becks_Rylynn/pseuds/Becks_Rylynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story one in my brand spanking new 'Where Is My Mind? 'verse' (otherwise known as the verse in which Dean and Ruby are a married couple who kick ass and take names).</p>
<p>In this story: Dean and Ruby celebrate their tenth anniversary. Things do not go as planned. Just a little fluff before I get into all of the horrible things that happen to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. daffodils in december

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of a new 'verse that I've created where Ruby is human, she and Dean have been married since 2004 (and have gone through the series as a married couple) and they're celebrating their tenth anniversary in season eight, because of the time jumps. Their song is ''Where Is My Mind?'' by The Pixies because of reasons. And they are both terribly crass and rude, because they are terrible influences on each other. Basically, this 'verse is an excuse for me to write Dean and Ruby being snarky badasses together while dealing with so much angst. And also, sexytimes. I'm thinking it's going to mostly consist of oneshots and twoshots rather than big elaborate multi-chapters.
> 
> Oh, and in this 'verse Ruby is Russian on her father's side (she was born Irina Ruby Leonidov but eventually changed her name to Ruby Irina Winchester) and that is why there is the occasional random bit of Russian in this 'verse.
> 
> Title taken from the song Where Is My Mind? by The Pixies. This story takes place sometime vaguely in season eight.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize.

**/i/**

_daffodils in december_

.

.

.

_They met on August 7th, 2000 in a smoky dive somewhere in Texas. She was eighteen, broken and hustling a very large man out of enough money to get herself a meal and a motel room for the night in a game of pool, her tiny little cut off jeans putting the odds in her favor. He was twenty one, just as broken as she was, and enthralled by the way she had every male in the bar under her pretty little thumb. After she had swindled three big burly dudes out of their money, he sidled up to her at the bar and asked her for a game._

_When he won (she was a great hustler; he was better), he told her that he would give her all her hard earned money back if she would go out on a date with him the next night. Eyes flashing, hands on her hips, looking like she was ready to tear him apart, she scowled at him and, after some prodding and cajoling, grumbled out a, ''Fine. Ass.'' It was the single worst way to start a relationship. It was sort of sleazy, actually._

_Fuck, though. It worked._

_The next night, he showed up at the same bar in the middle of Bumfuck, Texas, and there she was, sitting on the pool table in her tiny shorts and her cowboy boots, with one leg crossed over the other. Waiting for him._

_''I don't even know your name,'' she murmured, peering up at him._

_He shrugged. ''I don't know yours either.''_

_She tilted her head to the side. Pressed her lips together. ''...Ruby,'' she said, quietly. ''My name is Ruby.''_

_''Well, Ruby,'' he grinned, lips curled back, white teeth gleaming. ''I'm Dean.''_

_''Okay then, Dean. Tell me something.'' She slid off the table and stared up at him with a smirk to rival his. ''Does this count as prostitution?''_

_He threw his head back and laughed, a full on belly laugh, like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. She never told him, not that first night anyway, but she thought it was the best thing she had ever heard in her entire life._

.

.

.

Fourteen years later, she still thinks the sound of his laughter is the best thing in the world and he still thinks she's the most beautiful girl in every room. Their lives suck more than most people's lives, but it's their marriage that has always been the one thing that has remained intact through all of the crazy shit that has happened.

Dean and Ruby Winchester have proven, time and time again, that they are everything the Titanic should have been: _actually motherfucking unsinkable._

As fucked up and broken as they are, at least they still have that.

.

.

.

On the morning of December 18th, 2014, Ruby wakes up in a motel room somewhere in Illinois and realizes, with a start, that she has been married for ten years. It's not that she has forgotten her anniversary or the fact that she's a married woman. It isn't that it surprises her. She's not super panicked because she forgot to buy him an anniversary gift. It's just that when she wakes up, the date hits her in a way that it never has before. She has been married to Dean Winchester for ten years. She has been in a relationship with Dean Winchester for fourteen years. _Fourteen years._

Goddamn, she's old.

Ruby rolls over onto her back and pushes dark hair (her husband is still not on board with the color change; he says he misses the blond) out of her eyes. She stares at the dirty, stained ceiling of the cheap motel, still groggy and cold. She licks her dry lips and listens for the sound of the shower running, but all is silent. She sends a cursory glance at the alarm clock on the scratched nightstand. It's almost ten o'clock. Dean must have let her sleep in. She smiles tiredly and burrows back into the blankets. She knew there was a reason she married that guy. She lies still in the peaceful silence, awake but resting comfortably in her cocoon of blankets, and her thoughts begin to drift.

She has to admit that this isn't exactly the way she pictured their tenth anniversary. When they first got married, they both made bold promises to each other and goals for themselves, swept up in the magical unattainable idea of _normal._ On their wedding night, young and deliriously in love (and drunk), holed up in Pastor Jim's lake house, they both dreamt up a future for their marriage. This is not what that dream was. What they wanted back then was straight up apple-pie-Leave-it-to-Beaver-Pleasantville _perfect._ They were going to quit hunting once The Demon was dead, settle down in a nice safe town, get honest jobs, buy a house, start a family...

They wanted what everyone else wants.

She looks at the rings on her fingers, the simple wedding band Dean blew all his cash on ten years ago, the antique engagement ring that he had placed onto her finger when they renewed their vows on their third anniversary (the ring that Bobby had carefully slipped into Dean's pocket before the ceremony, the one that had once belonged to Karen Singer). The thing about life is that it never does end up the way we think it will, does it?

Twenty two year old Ruby wanted so badly to be a mother. Twenty four year old Dean wanted a home. Those two newlyweds just wanted _out._ What a couple of foolish kids. Honestly. Ruby thinks that the most miraculous thing about their life now is that they have made it to ten years alive. Priorities change. (And come on. Let's be realistic. There is no way _out_.)

She gives up on going back to sleep eventually and sits up slowly, her eyes instantly spotting the flowers sitting atop the television that only gets two channels. A slow smile stretches over her lips. She can't help it. She may terrify a lot of people but she's a big ball of fluff at heart and Dean knows this. Mostly because he's even fluffier than she is. The ridiculously sweet and creative anniversary gifts (anything from running out and buying her clean sheets for the night they spent in that horrifying motel room somewhere in West Virginia to spending _years_ sifting through her many distant relatives in Russia in order to track down a jewelry box that belonged to her beloved grandmother) are proof of that.

She crawls out of the warm bed and pads over to the bouquet of daffodils. They're beautiful, cheerful and sunny. Where does someone even get daffodils in December? She leans down to smell them, beaming widely the whole time. Fourteen years in and she still feels a pleasant warmth stir in her gut whenever her husband brings her flowers. She plucks the card from the bouquet and reads over the unbelievably sweet words scrawled on the notecard in Dean's chicken scratch. Next to the vase, on a piece of the tacky motel stationary, there is another note from him. _Back in 10. Went to get breakfast._

Still grinning happily, feeling much better than she has in a long time, she scribbles something down on the other side of the notecard, hums under her breath and goes to take a shower.

There are worse ways to be woken up in the morning, that's for sure.

.

.

.

Dean enters the motel room with a brown paper bag held in between his teeth, a tray of hot drinks in one hand and a box of pastries in the other. He can hear the shower running in the bathroom, the sound of his wife's singing drifting over the running water and through the thin walls. He kicks the door shut behind him, glad to be out of the freezing December air. As soon as he places the items down on the table and strips off his heavy jacket, he catches sight of the daffodils. Or rather, he catches sight of the notecard, folded and lying beside the vase. Sipping at his coffee, he snatches up the note and reads the words written in Ruby's loopy handwriting.

He smiles genuinely, enough to make his eyes crinkle, and sips at his piping hot coffee. The thought of someone caring enough to write something like that even after fourteen years still sends a thrill through him. She still sends a thrill through him. It's not like these past ten years have been easy, in fact there was an immeasurable amount of pain and carnage and loss. And there are days... There are a lot of bad days. It's just...

Fuck it.

Do you know what Dean Winchester is? He is a sentimental fool. He is a marshmallow. His wife is the most gorgeous thing he has ever laid eyes on. She is amazing, strong enough to keep going, strong enough to keep the both of them going, and even after all of these years of her not leaving him, he still loves her just as much as he did back then. He is _that guy._ He's the guy who never takes off his wedding ring and wears it proudly every day like it's a badge of honor, because that's _exactly what it is._ He's the guy who is still so amazed and in awe of his wife simply because she never gives up on him, not even when he gives up on himself, and that still utterly floors him. He's the guy who would literally die for his wife.

He's the guy who _has._

No matter what happens in life, he knows he's going to be that guy until the day he dies.

Look, he just really loves his wife, okay? He thinks she's awesome.

Dean swallows his coffee without really tasting it and hums along with the Janis Joplin song she's singing, waiting impatiently for her to get out of the shower. ''Would you hurry up already?!'' He calls out, when his coffee is half gone and he has successfully burnt his tongue. ''Jesus.''

''I deserve an extra long hot shower every once and awhile!'' She throws back at him.

''What are you even doing in there?'' He asks, rising to his feet and moving over to the closed bathroom door. He smirks, leaning his forearm against the doorjam. ''Irina Ruby Winchester,'' he chastises.

She yells something at him in Russian, which - if he's correct - is something incredibly rude, and then says, ''Don't call me that, dipshit!''

'' - Are you doing naughty things?''

''Did you really just use the word naughty without, like, being Santa Claus?''

He huffs out a laugh, because it's just that ridiculous. ''That was a weak comeback.''

''Yeah, not my best.''

''Sweetheart,'' he drawls, ''if you wanted to get off, you should have come to me. It's our anniversary. That's my job today. Plus, honestly, my fingers are better than any shower head.''

''Well, A,'' the shower turns off, ''you're a pervert.''

He nods. ''Fair.''

''B: That's weirdly sweet of you. And C: I don't think this particular bathroom is the best place to masturbate because there are frogs painted on the tiles, ducks on the shower curtain and I think I would feel massively uncomfortable.''

He snorts. He shrugs his shoulders and lets a small, slow smirk cross his lips. ''I didn't mind.''

The bathroom door opens.

He straightens immediately and lights up, not just because she's only wearing a towel, but just because it's her. She stares up at him, lips pressed into a tight line, amusement glinting in her eyes. He grins back, eyes raking over her towel clad body. She stares at him for a long moment and then brushes past him. He chuckles loudly, tilting his head back just slightly. ''So, you're just going to ignore that last - ''

''Yep.''

He shrugs again and turns away from her, back to the table of breakfast foods. ''Okay, so, I got you tea. Earl grey with lemon and honey. And anniversary breakfast,'' he announces happily. ''And I'm not talking about some greasy breakfast burritos. I went to an actual bakery and I got you butterscotch scones - your favourite - a couple of cherry danishes - also your favourite - and there might be a couple of donuts left, but Sam took most of them. You know, that kid likes to pretend he eats healthy but I just watched him scarf down three jelly donuts in the span of about thirteen - holy shit.'' He turns to face her again and his jaw nearly hits the floor. His mouth dries up and he trips and stumbles over his words pathetically. ''Ruby...'' He tries to swallow, but can't. ''Ruby, the towel went away.''

She smiles back at him, looking perfectly at ease and confident standing in front of him naked. It's not like it's an unusual thing. Not only have they been married for ten years and together for fourteen, but Ruby really does not have a whole lot of shyness when it comes to getting naked. ''Yes,'' she nods. ''Yes, it did. What are you going to do about it?''

''I...'' It's gotta be a good sign that he still finds himself speechless at the sight of her, right? ''Those are your boobs.''

Her oddly serene smile stretches into a devilish grin. ''Yep. Same ones you've been fondling...and licking...and occasionally sucking for fourteen years. Now,'' she places her hands on her bare hips. He licks his lips slowly. ''You said your fingers are better than any shower head. So get over here and prove it.''

''But...'' He blinks and gestures helplessly at the food. ''Breakfast...''

She raises her eyebrows.

He pauses and tilts his head to the side. ''I'm sorry,'' he starts to take slow, careful steps towards her. ''That was strange. What I _meant_ was - '' His arms snake around her waist and he lifts her up, the both of them going tumbling back onto the bed, her shriek of laughter echoing through the room.

.

.

.

''A date?''

Ruby places the styrofoam cup of not even lukewarm anymore tea down on the night stand and slips back under the sheets, cherry danish in hand. ''Like,'' she entangles her legs with her husband's. ''A real date?'' She licks a bit of cherry filling off her finger and studies the almost peaceful expression on his face. It has been so long since he has looked so content. It's a good look on him. She wishes they could have a life where he could be content more often.

''Yes,'' he nods decisively and sits up, leaning over to steal a bite of the danish, sheets pooling around his waist. ''At a real restaurant with real tablecloths and everything.''

''Oh. Fancy. Hmm,'' she picks at the pastry and intercepts his mouth when he attempts to steal another bite, kissing him soundly on the lips. ''This is important to you,'' she whispers.

''You deserve to have real food on your anniversary, Ruby.''

She cups his face with her free hand. ''It's your anniversary, too.''

''Okay. Well. What _I_ want for _my_ anniversary,'' he twirls a strand of her hair, ''is to be able to take my wife out on a date. Consider it your present to me.''

She arches an eyebrow. She places the half eaten cherry danish back on the paper bag on the night stand and pushes herself onto her knees, holding the sheets to her chest. ''Does that mean you don't want the other present I got you?''

She sucks the sticky sweet sugary filling off her finger and crawls between his legs, staring down at him with an innocent smile. ''Well, that depends,'' his arms wind around her waist and a smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. ''Is your gift anything like what just happened? Does it involve lingerie? Role playing? Is there a safe word? Because I've been thinking lately that maybe we should change ours. You know, _strawberry_ just doesn't have the same - ''

She leans down and presses her lips to his, cutting him off abruptly. ''Okay,'' she murmurs against his lips. ''A date, it is.''

''Great,'' he kisses her nose. ''I'll pick you up at seven.''

''Pick me up?''

''It's a date, Ruby. And we're going to do it right.''

She laughs, head thrown back and wraps her arms around his neck. Before she can say another word, he grabs her and flips her over onto her back, trailing kisses down her jawline.

Her tea remains forgotten and untouched on the night stand.

.

.

.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully.

They spend it locked inside their motel room, hiding from the rest of the world, under the sheets, eating butterscotch scones and having mind-blowingly fantastic anniversary sex. She gives him his anniversary gift (and yes, it does involve lingerie) and somewhat reluctantly - after apologizing for a ''shitty present this year, I didn't have a whole lot of time this year - '' ''Dean, shut up, I love it'' - he gives her her anniversary gift. As usual, it blows her gift out of the water. It's a picture frame (made from tin because the tenth anniversary is tin and Dean has always been adorably traditional when it comes to anniversary gifts) and it's beautiful, red and shiny, but it's the picture in the frame that makes her bawl like a baby.

It's one of her favourite pictures. She keeps a copy with her at all times. The picture is from Valentine's Day, 2011. Sam was dead (or at least they thought he was) and Luka was still in the hospital. Neither of them really wanted to celebrate the day, she remembers that. It just wasn't a good time for them. They were tired and sad and terrified. But on Valentine's Day, a tiny little bit of that weight was lifted when they were allowed to hold Luka for the first time.

The truth is it isn't the happiest picture in the world. They were both exhausted, they had both gained some weight, their smiles were thin and watery, their eyes red and puffy and bloodshot, there were stupid tacky paper hearts and cupids taped to the wall behind their heads, and the tiny, tiny bundle in her arms was sick and hooked up to wires, startlingly frail and fragile like a porcelain doll. But he was _in her arms._ For the first time. And despite the unimaginable sorrow that came after, she was happy that day and nothing can take that from her.

It's not just about the gift, to be honest. It's about the fact that he's willing to remember their son. She has always been the one who wants to remember, who never wants to forget. She has been a mother for years, one who - yes, lost her son, but a mother nonetheless. Dean, on the other hand, hasn't thought of himself as a father since Luka died.

She kisses her husband on the lips when he gives her the present, tears in her eyes and running down her cheeks, and tells him she loves him.

(It's impossible for him to give a bad gift. It really is.)

The rest of the day is quiet and nice. It's a much needed break in the chaos.

Naturally, because the day has gone so smoothly, the night has to fall apart.

Ain't that the way their world works?


	2. ya lyublyu tebya

**/ii/**

_ya lyublyu tebya_

.

.

.

Dean calls at five to seven, while she is just putting the finishing touches on her makeup, and he tells her that he's going to be a little late and could they just meet at the restaurant? He doesn't say _why_ he's going to be late. This should be her first clue.

By seven ten, she's sitting in a ritzy restaurant in her red dress and heels, nibbling at breadsticks and texting her missing husband. By seven twenty, the little snot of a waiter is getting cranky because she hasn't ordered anything, not even a glass of wine, and Dean still hasn't shown up. By seven thirty, she's past the point of frustration and into worried, sending text after text and he isn't answering any of them. By seven forty five, worried is a thing of the past and she has sailed right into terrified territory. The waiter is trying to get her to move. ''There are other patrons who would like this table, ma'am,'' he says. _People whose dates have shown up,_ he doesn't say. He clearly doesn't realize just how lucky he is to not have her heel up his ass.

She's not an idiot. She's sure she must look like a sad, lonely woman who was stood up on a blind date. Frankly, she doesn't give a shit. Dean wanted this date night. He was excited for this stupid date night. He wouldn't just not show up. Something is wrong.

Finally, at eight o'clock, after she has polished off the breadsticks and her third glass of water, her phone buzzes on the table. Words cannot describe the feeling of relief that floods through her when she sees his name flashing on the screen. ''Dean,'' she breathes into the phone, glancing around quickly for prying eyes. ''What the hell happened to you? Are you okay?''

The voice on the other end of the line is not Dean.

Her back straightens, her heart plummets and her blood runs cold. ''Benny?''

.

.

.

He is lying in a hospital bed when she enters the room, unconscious, lifeless and drugged up. Only a Winchester could get themselves into a pickle like this. He's banged up pretty bad, bruises and cuts littering his skin, a cast on his arm. He looks rough. His clothes are on the chair beside the bed, pants and shirt folded neatly, suit jacket draped over the back of the chair. She picks up his nice crisp white shirt and swallows hard, fingers smoothing over the blood splatters staining it red.

''Oh, for fuck's sake,'' she says. She means for it to sound annoyed, but it comes out choked and tight. Her hand flies to her necklace, the antique key that Dean gave her on her first anniversary, the one she has worn almost every day since.

''He has a mild concussion, multiple _contusions_ , a broken arm, and bruised ribs,'' a voice says from behind her.

She whirls around to face Benny, squaring her jaw and placing the shirt down.

He's lurking in the shadows of the dimly lit hospital room, like a true vampire, smirking, eyes hooded. ''Mrs. Winchester,'' he greets with a nod. ''What would you do without me?''

She clenches her jaw and folds her arms. ''Benny,'' she sighs.

He tips his hat to her. ''Evenin', sunshine. You look lovely as always.''

She tries not to. She really does. Let the record show that she honestly does try her damndest to not be a snarky bitch in this particular situation. She fails miserably. ''Yeah?'' She chews on the inside of her cheek and tilts her head to the side. ''Good enough to eat?''

He gives her a flat, unimpressed look, strolling towards her. ''Right. That's funny because I'm a vampire.''

''Benny,'' she grins and places her hand on his arm. ''For the last time, no, you cannot have a threesome with us.''

''I'm cryin' on the inside.''

''However,'' she holds up one finger. ''If you promise not to leave marks, I might consider letting you borrow Dean for a night.''

He rolls his eyes at her. ''I'm not here to trade barbs with you.''

''Shame. We're so good at it, you and I. It would be our foreplay if we ever did have a threesome.''

''Mmmhmm. As much as I enjoy your talent for crass hu - ''

''What the hell happened to my husband, Benny?''

The smirk resting comfortably on his lips drops off. He rakes his careful eyes over the body in the bed, mouth drawn into a tight frown. ''I don't know,'' he admits in a quiet mumble. When he tears his eyes away from Dean and looks back at Ruby, he looks angry. He moves away from her, gliding over to the curtain separating Dean's bed from another, and in one fluid motion, he yanks the curtain back. ''But he might.''

Sam, all six foot four of him, is sitting perched on the bed, body hunched over as he drifts in and out of sleep. He snaps awake when the curtain is pulled back, eyes wild and searching. He looks, for all the world, like a three year old rather than a thirty year old. As soon as he spots Ruby, a goofy grin lights up his face and he leaps to his feet, ambling towards her awkwardly and folding his large body practically in half to envelop her in his arms. She squeaks when he lifts her off the ground, wiggling uselessly in his strong arms. ''Ruby!'' He cheers. ''Sis!'' He stares at her with big eyes and leans in uncomfortably close. ''My hands,'' he hisses, ''are really big.''

She stops wiggling and squirming to stare at him.

Benny arches a single brow. ''I don't know what they gave him,'' he says, ''but it ain't makin' me like him any more.''

''No, but they're _so_ big,'' Sam goes on. ''They're like giant hands.''

''Um,'' Ruby nods. ''That's great, sweetie.'' She wriggles in his grip and idly wonders if this was what it felt like to be in King Kong's massive grip. ''But do you think maybe - ''

''Sam,'' the voice is raspy and quiet, but firm, like a parent warning a child not to touch a hot stove or to stop antagonizing the family pet. ''You put her down right now.''

All eyes go to Dean.

Sam puts her down. Actually, correction: Sam _drops_ her. He drops her like she's hot.

Ruby goes spilling to the floor, landing hard on her behind and her too short little red dress accidentally rides up, resulting in -

''O - '' Benny blinks and looks away very quickly '' - _kay_.''

Note to self: Always wear underwear. Even on an anniversary date.

''Dean!'' Sam cries, and then he basically throws himself onto Dean and nearly crushes his brother, literally pinning him to the bed.

Dean's heart monitor speeds up. He groans loudly under the weight of his brother, grimacing in pain, and he can't even manage to push Huggy Bear away from him. ''Oh, Jesus Christ, I'm gonna barf. Sam. _Sammy._ Buddy, I'm gonna need you to ease up a little. I was just attacked by the fuckin' cast of the motherfuckin' Vampire Diaries. My ego is severely bruised.''

Sam appears to loosen his grip slightly, but doesn't pull away from his brother completely. He's sniffling and when he speaks, his voice is wobbly. ''You saved my life,'' he blubbers. ''That was so nice of you, Dean. _So_ nice. You're definitely my favourite. I love you so much, man.''

Dean swallows, but shrugs it off. ''Oh, god,'' he grumbles. But he still pats Sam on the head with his uninjured hand and it's still sickeningly, adorably sweet. ''Buddy, did that nice nurse give you some codeine?''

At that, Sam abruptly pulls away and stands straight, pumping his fists in the air. ''I love codeine more than anything else!''

''That's a troublin' statement,'' Benny interjects, leaning against the wall and gnawing on his thumbnail, eyes narrowed while he silently judges them all.

''Oh, poor baby,'' Ruby ruffles Sam's hair, which is a little awkward because even in heels he's still incredibly tall. ''Codeine just has the strangest effect on you, doesn't it?'' She gently pushes him down into a chair and takes her place next to the bed. She leans down to brush a quick kiss to Dean's cheek. '' _Ty idiot_ ,'' she murmurs, grazing her fingers across his cheek. _''Chto ty sdelal?''_

He attempts to shrug a shoulder, but grimaces and a pained moan slips through his lips. ''Uh, well. Sam called. He needed my help. Apparently Edward and Jacob had teamed up to take him down.''

''It was so nice to see them defying the stereotypes,'' Sam sighs.

Ruby sucks in a breath and throws a look over her shoulder at the sheepish looking Sam. '' _Vy_ _propustili nashu datu_.''

''I know. I'm sorry. But... But... _YA lyublyu koz_.'' Dean offers her a lopsided, tired looking grin. ''Huh? Huh?''

She blinks. Then blinks again. Then she wrinkles her nose. ''I don't think you realize what you just said.''

''I'm drugged, okay?!''

''You just told her that you love goats.''

Sam shrieks in surprise at the sudden appearance of Castiel and immediately slaps his hands over his mouth.

Castiel, standing beside Benny on the other side of Dean's bed, tilts his head to the side and stares down at Dean with a bemused frown. ''I wasn't aware you had such strong feelings for - ''

''Oh my god, shut up,'' Dean snaps. He rubs at his forehead. ''I don't love goats. Goats are bastards.''

Castiel frowns. ''I think that's a bit much.'' He raises his eyes to Ruby and gives her a nod and a soft smile. ''Ruby,'' he greets. ''Happy anniversary.''

She smiles lightly. ''Thanks.''

''It's my anniversary, too,'' Dean pouts.

''Sam,'' Cas greets, and - bless his heart - he doesn't say anything about the glazed over look in the younger Winchester's eyes. He turns his head briefly, just long enough to flash Benny a half hearted glare. ''Benny,'' he says, voice low.

''Hot wings.''

''I would say it's nice to see you again,'' Cas says, ''but I don't like you.''

''Oh, geez,'' Dean sighs.

''You're jus' jealous,'' Benny deadpans.

''Um. Excuse me.'' Cas clears his throat. ''Your _face_ is jealous,'' he says proudly, and then swings excited eyes back over to Dean, ignoring Sam's hysterical giggles, Ruby's sigh and Benny's head shake. ''Did I do that right?''

Dean stares. For a long time. He just stares.

Ruby decides it's best to speak up before Dean opens his mouth and throws out something mean. ''Is anybody going to fill me in on what happened?''

''We got the shit kicked out of us by Twilight characters,'' Dean snaps. He rubs at his forehead, looking pained, voice raspy and so beyond done with all of this shit. ''That's what fucking happened.''

''I thought it was so nice, though,'' Sam says seriously. ''How Caroline and Tyler defied all the currently popular stereotypes. It was uplifting. It touched me.'' He pouts and goes full on puppy dog eyed, touching one hand to his heart. ''Right here.''

Cas lowers his head slightly and arches an eyebrow in the best bitchface Ruby has ever seen. He blinks at Sam, narrows his eyes, and says, plainly, without an ounce of surprise, ''Codeine?''

There is a chorus of voices. ''Codeine,'' they all say, perfectly synchronized.

Cas gives yet another short nod and nobody talks about how his lips twitch upwards for about a quarter of a second. ''Sam,'' he says, not unkindly, but firmly. Again: Like an adult talking to a child. ''I should take you home.''

''Yes, you definitely should,'' Dean agrees. ''Take him home. Put him to bed so he can sleep that shit off. It's gettin' weird.''

''I'd say we're long past weird,'' says Benny, but rolls his eyes and doesn't say another word about Sam when Dean sends him a look. ''I should probably skedaddle, too,'' he says. ''Hospitals and vampires aren' the best match.''

Cas nods, quite enthusiastically, which is a strange sight. ''Yes, I think that's a good idea. Dean should be resting. I'll heal you once you're released?''

Dean salutes him with his good arm. ''Sounds good.''

There's a beat of silence where no one moves, all of them hesitant to leave Dean's side because this one infuriating man has somehow managed to carve himself into pieces of each of them. But then Sam quite abruptly breaks the silence by leaning over to Dean and cupping his hand over his mouth to stage whisper to Dean, ''Psst, hey, hey, bro? You know what I love more than anything else?''

Dean sighs. Gives his brother a flat look. ''Codeine?''

Sam pumps his fists in the air and does a little dance, looking jovial, like a little boy. ''Codeine!'' He cheers. ''Yeah!'' It's amusing, yes, but there is also something incredibly sad about it. Ruby hasn't seen Sam grin like that, so freely and genuinely, in years. Actual puppy dog Sammy gives Dean the goofiest and sweetest grin. ''See, though? See? You and me, man. We're like _this._ It's like you _get_ me. This is why we're brothers.''

Dean looks at the ceiling, blinks and swallows hard. Ruby holds her breath. Both are careful not to look at Sam. ''For fuck's sake,'' Dean mutters. ''Get him out of here.''

''I'm on it,'' says Cas, and amidst Sam's protesting, he reaches down to grasp Sam's wrist and then they're gone.

''Maybe,'' Ruby pipes up, kicking off her heels and curling her legs under her. ''We should just get him really drunk, take him to a tattoo parlor and have _'does not react well to_ _codeine'_ tattooed on his forehead.''

''It's a thought,'' Dean hums. ''But he'd probably never speak to us again.''

''You underestimate the sweetness of silence,'' Benny deadpans, and pushes off the wall he's leaning against. ''Well, it's been real, brother.'' He holds out a hand for Dean to shake. ''Try not to die while I'm gone.''

''Do my best,'' Dean says. ''No promises.''

'' _Yes_ promises,'' Ruby grumbles.

''And hey, thanks for showin' up when you did,'' Dean adds. ''You probably saved my skin.''

''...Probably?''

''I'd take it if I were you.''

''Stop bein' such a great big damsel and I wouldn't have to keep savin' your sorry ass.''

''He does it on purpose,'' Ruby says with a wicked grin. ''Just so he can see you.''

''Seriously, man,'' Dean insists, eyes twinkling mischievously. ''Did you ever know that you're my hero?''

''Stop.''

''You're everything I would like to be.''

''Fuck off.''

''You,'' Dean points at Benny. ''You are the wind beneath my wings.''

Benny shakes his head and spins on his heel. ''I'm leavin'.''

''Benny!'' Dean calls over the sound of his wife's laughter. ''Benny, wait! Come on. Lighten up. You wanna make out a little?''

''Oh,'' Ruby gasps when Benny leaves them with one final parting gift before stalking out the door. ''Now that is not a very gentlemanly hand gesture!''

Their laughter is quiet, not as loud and gregarious as it was this morning, but it is still one hundred percent real. ''Do you think we spend too much time fucking with people?'' He asks.

She waves it off. ''Eh, that's the foundation of our relationship.''

He laughs again, tired and rumbly, but still real. She scoots the chair a little closer to the bed and takes his hand, entwining their fingers. The exhausted smiles fall off their lips and he turns his head to look at her, meeting her eyes. ''I'm sorry I missed our date,'' he says eventually.

She sighs and lets out a small and quiet laugh. She's doing her best not to think about the ruined night, or the fear she felt when she heard that Dean was in the hospital. She touches his cheek gently, very gently, just grazes his skin with her fingertips, feeling the rough stubble that she pretends she hates but actually secretly adores. ''Are you ever going to tell me what happened?''

He groans. ''I was on my way when I got an SOS text from Sam. Apparently a werewolf and a vampire were tag teaming the local college, he went to check it out and got ambushed. When I got there, I...'' He pauses, cheeks coloring. ''I underestimated the vampire girl. She was tiny but deadly. She was like a vampire version of you. I'm sorry,'' he says again. ''I wanted to give you something good for once. A night without all this shit. Especially on our tenth - ''

''Oh, shut up, you loser.'' She leans back in her chair and props her bare feet up on the bed, wiggling them under the covers. ''I never needed any of that and you knew it. I haven't spent fourteen years with you because of fancy dinners. I've spent fourteen years with you because I love you. I mean,'' she shrugs. ''I would prefer it if you weren't injured, yeah, but at least we're together, right?'' She tries not to think about their last anniversary, the one she spent alone, curled up in a ball in bed while he was lost somewhere in the depths of purgatory. She swings her feet down and stands. ''This thing we've got going on between us,'' she cups his cheek and still feels a thrill, a fluttering in her chest when he leans into her touch. ''It's always been about you and me. Just you and me. Well, and maybe those two big eyed idiots of ours.'' She leans down to kiss him on the lips softly, sweetly, and he kisses back, lips moving against hers, one hand reaching up to curl around the back of her neck. She smiles against his lips when she breaks the kiss but doesn't move away from him completely. ''Happy anniversary, Dean.''

His fingers twirl a strand of her hair and he says, ''Pass me my jacket.''

She draws away, arching an eyebrow. ''Excuse me?''

''Sorry. _Please_ hand me my jacket.''

She rolls her eyes, but gets him his jacket anyway. His lips quirk into one of those unmistakably Dean Winchester smirks and he digs something out of the pocket of the bloodstained suit jacket. It's a small black box. Unmistakable, really. She looks at the box, then at him. ''Dean, what - ''

''Did you really think that picture frame was all I got you?'' He questions, handing over the box. ''Where would we even put a picture frame? We live in a car.'' He shifts in the bed, sitting up properly, trying and failing to mask a grimace, arm cradled to his chest, other hand clutching his ribs. ''I was going to give it to you at dinner but I think that plan has been thoroughly Jossed. So open it.''

She looks at him suspiciously but can't contain her curiosity, pulling open the box. Her breath catches, eyes widening. Her lips part in shock. It's a simple bracelet, a silver engraved charm bracelet. She stares at it for a long time, trying to reign in all of the conflicting emotions rushing through her. She can't take her eyes off of it, tears blurring her vision. Engraved into a charm on the bracelet, in English on one side and Russian on the other, is her son's name.

_Luka Samuel Winchester._

''Ruby.''

She lifts her head sharply, watery eyes focusing on her husband. He looks nervous, which is unusual for him when it comes to his anniversary gifts. Anniversary gifts are a weird thing for him. He really enjoys meticulously picking out a gift according to whatever tradition that year may be and he is always very proud when it comes to them. It's different this time. He's clearing his throat, something he does when he's uncomfortable, and he's not looking at her, staring at the bracelet instead. She thinks that maybe this is more than a bracelet. ''I know you think I don't think about him,'' he says, and this time he's looking right at her, not at the ceiling or the wall, like he usually does when talking about Luka. She swallows hard. ''But I do. All the time. Not a day goes by where I don't think about how life would have been if he hadn't... If he had made it.'' His fingers curl tight around the stiff hospital blankets. ''I mean, he's my son,'' he says it fast, breathlessly. ''And I know how badly you want us to remember him. The matching tattoos - the one that I weaseled my way out of getting -, the pictures you're always putting in my wallet, that little blue hat of his that you always keep in the bottom of your bag.''

She lowers her gaze to the bracelet. ''I didn't know you knew about that.''

''That's what I wanted to do for you. It's not tin,'' he gestures towards the bracelet. ''But I wanted to give you something to remember him by. I was going to get a matching one, but...'' He trails off and shakes his head. ''The truth is,'' he manages a thin smile, ''you are ten times stronger than I ever could be and I couldn't... I just couldn't.'' He stops, clenching his jaw. ''It's hard enough to get out of bed as it is, so I think you're just going to have to wear that for the both of us.''

She darts forwards to kiss him again, still holding tightly to the box with one hand, other hand moving to cup his cheek. ''I love it,'' she manages to get out through the rock in her throat. ''I love it so much.'' She wraps her arms around him and squeezes her eyes shut, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. ''I love you, you know.''

''Yeah, you better,'' he mumbles into her hair, ''it wasn't cheap.''

She pulls back and punches him in the shoulder.

''Ow! God! Injured here!''

''Shut up,'' she hands him the box and holds out her wrist, ''and put that thing on me, Winchester.''

.

.

.

Ruby's eyelids are starting to get heavy, but she is still admiring her new bracelet, tracing her son's name over and over again while Dean channel surfs beside her. It's late and visiting hours are technically over, but the nurses all have a lot of sympathy for the ''poor man who was mugged on his way to his anniversary dinner'' so they let her stay and don't even say anything when she curls up in bed with Dean, burrowing under the covers instead of on the cot they bring her. The lights are dim in the hospital room and despite Dean's pleading they have not had ''sneaky ninja sex.'' It's not the way she pictured her anniversary going, but in the grand scheme of things...

It's actually not _that_ bad.

It's way better than their fourth anniversary. Or their seventh. Or eighth. Or their ninth.

''What do you think?'' Dean asks, abandoning his task to find something to watch on TV and turning to her. ''Do you think we'll make it to twenty?''

She gives him a look. You know, one of those looks that only wives are capable of giving. ''You bet your ass we will. We're going all the way to fifty. If you're this good at giving gifts now, I want to know what you're going to get me for our golden anniversary. ...Hopefully gold. How cool would that be? Just like a bar of gold.''

He blinks at her. ''You're kind of a geek.''

''Oh, really?'' She raises her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side. ''Says the guy who fanboys over Star Trek and Doctor Sexy, knows all the words to Call Me Maybe and likes to dress up?''

He pauses. He opens his mouth to speak but only a squeak comes out. ''Well, um,'' he clears his throat and drops his gaze, cheeks red, smile tugging at his lips. ''Okay. A: I did not know you knew about Call Me Maybe. And B: This is why we're so perfect for each other. 'Cause we're both dorks. We can be dorks together.''

She snorts and curls into him, laying her head on his chest so she can hear his heartbeat. (Just in case.) ''Aren't you lucky?''

''Mmmhmm.''

They sit in peaceful silence for a moment, watching a so-bad-it's-good infomercial and then she sighs loudly and cannot keep it in any longer. ''So,'' she presses a kiss to his chest and props herself up on an elbow. ''Quick question: Are we just not going to talk about how Sam _obviously_ watches The Vampire Diaries? I feel like this needs to be addressed.''

''I'm not supposed to say anything,'' he says, ''because he doesn't make fun of me for Doctor Sexy.''

''Oh my god, I still don't understand how that's still on.''

''But it's possible,'' he begins slowly, ''that I may have ordered him a life sized cardboard cutout of the Salvatore brothers for him for Christmas.''

''...Are you serious?''

''I had it shipped to the house. Mrs. Hanson next door is going to sign for it.'' She laughs loudly, settling back down in the bed, one arm thrown over his stomach. ''You're such a good brother.''

''I am, aren't I?''

.

.

.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the abrupt ending, but I really had major issues trying to come up with a way to end this story. And just for the record, I do not speak Russian. I used Google translate, and it's written phonetically here, not in correct Russian spelling. Major apologies if it's wrong.
> 
> ya lyublyu tebya = I love you  
> Chto ty sdelal? = What did you do?  
> Vy propustili nashu datu = You missed our date  
> YA lyublyu koz = I love goats

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, just FYI, yes, Luka was their son. I'll reveal more about him and what happened to him as this 'verse progresses. Oh and also: Jo and Ellen are alive in this 'verse, so be on the look out for them! (And. Interesting tidbit: Daffodils are apparently the flowers that are supposed to represent the tenth anniversary. I'm not sure why, though. Anyone know why?)


End file.
